Bearcat (n): 1) an arboreal civet with a long prehensile tail; 2) (informal) a hot-blooded or fiery girl; 3) a group of lady comedians from Boston
I’m so happy that eight months ago Sasha came and dragged Maile, Baseman and I out of that whorehouse in west Philly and demanded we stop turning tricks because, as she so eloquently put it, we “belonged in the lights… the hot, hot lights of a career in comedy.” She didn’t accept excuses, so we couldn’t give them. She helped us get out of that town. Together we wrestled hobos at the city limits, survived food poisoning from a now out-of-business Roy Rogers, and even managed to fix a run in Baseman’s fishnets along the way.
But really, I think it all started at that truck stop in Warwick. The four of us had no idea that we’d meet Rachel and Cuddy working at that gift shop, slinging keychains and travel-sized hand sanitizer. When we all made eye contact with each other, the feeling was absolutely palpable. Maile stopped mid-Snickers. A trucker’s jaw dropped faster than the mug that slid out of his hand. Somewhere, softly, in the distance, a baby cried. Silently, Rachel and Cuddy just walked out from behind the counter. We were already communicating without speaking. “Will you mash your brains into our brains?” asked Rachel. “They are already mashed,” I sent back. We hugged each other in a five way hug, and all of the truckers in the place got instant boners, but also felt an instant feeling of respect.
Thank god Hannah happened to be stopped at the truck stop on her way to Memphis to take a leak or we never would have picked her up. As she walked out of the women’s room, everyone and everything halted to a stop. “You have toilet paper stuck to the bottom of your shoe,” said Cuddy. “I know,” said Hannah. And goddamn it if we didn’t all walk out of there together and get in the same car, toilet paper and all. And now that toilet paper is hanging in a glass frame on the wall of the Lincoln Memorial in DC.
We thought we were done then. We thought, “This is the perfect group. We are the perfect comedic ensemble. Our shows will make peoples’ hearts flutter and make men and lesbians and anyone who’s into women sexually putty in our hands. Even people who aren’t into women sexually, they will question their sexuality when they see us perform. We will sway peoples’ sexualities.” We thought all of that. And then, in the middle of the woods, we ran into Shannon, Lori, and Erin. The three of them had been down on their luck. They had been trying to sell crafts they had made out of acorns, but the market was already saturated, and they had all but given up hope. We were in the woods looking for acorns, because one of the acorns had fallen off of Hannah’s typically-quirky necklace, and suddenly we felt as though our souls were being sucked out of our bodies and right into the tent the three of them had been living in which was constructed out of a sheet, some flannel shirts, and hair ties. And all 10 of our souls had a sleepover in that tent. And in the middle of the night, some bearcats came and tried to steal our food, but we domesticated them, and they loved us.
And after that night, we knew it was very real, and very much forever. “We are Bearcats,” said Sasha as she baked us a vegan carrot cake. “Don’t forget to put the sugar in,” said Baseman. “Oh, we NEVER forget to put the sugar in,” said Cuddy. And the rest is history.